Like Yesterday's Phone Messages
by pamelamorganhalpert
Summary: An alternative take to Jim's evening after the infamous season two episode Casino Night.


A/N: Italics are Jim's flashbacks.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 1 – Like Yesterday's Phone Messages

Jim stands in the faint glow of his work light, the rest of the office completely dark. Dark like his mood he thinks, an empty feeling to match what goes through his mind. He sits down on his desk chair, the wheels slightly moving from his heaviness, and sighs. _What an awful ending to a miserable night. I'm all alone. Isn't that great? I can't believe I could ever have thought she had feelings for me, too. She's with Roy. I made a move. Now she hates me._

Pam had made her shaky, nervous exit only minutes before, saying that she would call a cab to take her home. _Home. Back home to Roy. _He had mentally filled in the blanks. _As always. Pam – you just never seem to be able to make up your mind. You kiss me back but then step away making some excuse that you have to go home. You tell me it was all a mistake, that you stopped thinking and acted on an impulse. That you're sorry and you didn't mean to. _

_But how could you do this to me?_ _How could you supposedly feel nothing for me, yet kiss me back?_

_And then just leave me here._

Jim sighs even louder than the first time and his eyes fill with tears, he fights to stop them, but he's just too weak, too tired, and too helpless - and he doesn't even care anymore. He lets the tears come; rolling down his smooth, silky cheeks - the ones that she had caressed only moments before. He sits in the still room, silent except for the soft hum of the light and vents in the ceiling above his head, and does everything in his power to magically let all his feelings for his first true love vanish through the droplets of water in his eyes.

_If only it was this easy to get over you, Pam. But it's not. You're just too good, but clueless. Clueless to go home to your jackass of a fiancée who doesn't even realize you hate your job. That you want to be an artist. That jerk just thinks you 'doodle' out of boredom. _

Jim sits in his swivel chair and lifts his feet off the ground, bringing his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them, burying his face in the dark fabric of his pants, still wracking with sobs_. Please don't come back tonight. I can't stand the idea of you seeing me look like this – if you were to ever leave him for me. You need someone strong, someone to love you, someone who truly cares for you and everything you care about. Then again, if you saw me now, you would see how much I need you. How much you mean to me and maybe you'd summon up the courage, summon up the love, deep down in your heart, to love me back. Because you know that I'd never do anything to make you hurt this much_. He sits there just letting the minutes go by as he tries his darndest to get over the one woman he'd ever been in love with.

_Just give up, Jim, it's pointless. You'll go to Stamford and everything will be fine. You'll get away and eventually you can forget about her. You'll look back to this day and wonder why you ever cried over this girl, 'P… her name started with a P… oh what was her name?' you'll ask yourself because she'll be long forgotten like yesterday's phone messages. _

_Damn phone messages, they remind me of Pam. Oh shit, I'm getting nowhere… Like yesterday's… like yesterday's… like yesterday's paper. That's what._

The sound of a hand on the doorknob jars Jim out of his inner talking-to and he jumps up to his feet desperately trying to compose himself. He looks around to Phyllis' desk for a tissue and locates one perched on the edge of her piles of sales reports. Grabbing a tissue he blots his eyes quickly, stuffing it in his pocket as the person on the other end of the door finally opens it.

Footsteps sound their way through the quiet office and Jim hears a soft whimper, sounds of the end of a good cry.

When the person comes into view of the work lamp it casts a shadow over their physique, Jim cranes his neck to identify the sniffling person slumped in the doorway of the entryway to Dunder Mifflin Scranton.

When he finally matches the body to a name he looks surprised to see the ever-composed and business-like face of Jan Levinson wiping tears from her eyes with a tissue as Jim had done only a minute before.


End file.
